Page 39 of Heart of Stone

A muffled protest in the background sounds suspiciously like a roar.

"Are you sure you don’t mind?—"

"Stop. The kids are fine. Tank is a big softie. He loves kids. Ours are all grown now, which makes me sad. They’re smelly teens with their own lives, and I never got girls, only three boys who just want to make out with girls and guys and play ball. Ugh. Now, tell me you’re not wearing those coveralls to this date."

"It’s not a date."

“Babe. You’re on the back of his bike. That’s biker fordate.”

I glance at the bag I’ve stashed under the sink. “I had a change of clothes in my locker.”

"Describe.”

I sigh. “Jeans, a fluffy pink sweater, and a leather jacket.”

“I mean… did you happen to grab makeup?”

“I have lip gloss.”

"I'm hanging up now and coming right over."

“Ginger!”

Her laugh echoes through the phone. "Look, the guy is lost for you. Go have fun."

I mutter something under my breath.

"What was that, sugar?"

“I said I don’t do fun.”

“Hmm. When's the last time you did something just for you?"

I can’t remember.

"It's just a ride," I say, turning back to the mirror. "You’re turning it into something bigger than it is. He probably wants to talk about the house rules or something."

"Sure. Because bikers always take women on their bikes to 'talk' about rules. Unless we’re talking bedroom rules, in which case?—"

“Ginger!”

The rumble of a motorcycle pulling into the lot has my stomach doing flips.

"Well," Ginger practically purrs, "sounds like your chariot awaits."

I shake my head. "Good night, Ginger. Don’t wait up."

She cackles as I hit end.

I toss the phone onto my bag and stare at my reflection. The woman looking back seems foreign—hair loose instead of tied back, a touch of mascara, lips glossed pink.

What the hell am I doing?

I change into the clothes, grab my bag, and head out, forcing myself not to overthink this.

Fat chance.

The sun is just starting to set, painting the garage lot in shades of gold and amber.